The Hogwarts Murders – Vol. 4

Many things could make a teenage boy angry, but there were not many things that would make him admit to being scared. Boys did not get scared, simply; that was exactly why Draco Malfoy was always reduced to a whimpering, shivering pile every time somebody decided to punch his face in. Most often Harry Potter, admittedly, but there had been quite a few glorious moments for Hermione Granger as well, bless her soul.

Everything had become so odd and choked since her unfortunate suicide – whether it had been intentional or not, no-one had been able to tell – and many things had changed. Ron Weasley would sometimes be caught crying in the dead of night, which he of course denied if you ever had the guts (or the stupidity) to ask him about it. The redhead needed no pity, and certainly no solace. The whole of Gryffindor common room often grew utterly and eerily silent in the evenings, and they all glanced at the empty armchair by the fire that no-one dared to sit in from time to time. It had been Hermione's favourite chair, and it was now some sort of shrine to honour her memory, out of courtesy to her best friends. Harry missed her a lot, too, it was apparent for any fool to see, even for Neville. The young raven-haired Potter would sit in a corner of the common room for hours at a time, turning his greasy, bent glasses in his hands as if searching for the meaning of life in the light-reflecting surfaces of the glass circles.

Hermione's death had even affected the Slytherins. For a whole fortnight there were no malicious comments or mockery heard from them about anything or anyone at all. Even Draco Malfoy lay off the mockery for a good seven days. Once he stopped Harry and Ron to somewhat awkwardly ask for directions to a classroom that he obviously knew the location of, and both boys could have sworn that the Slytherin was muttering "Sorry for your loss" under his breath before hurrying off, crimson with embarrassment.

Neville felt awfully bad for them, because he knew the pain of losing someone close to you, but he never found the appropriate words to tell them how he felt about it. He simply managed a "Sorry" before it got too painful and he had to bunk in his dorm, curled up in bed, hidden beneath the cool covers. He had loved Hermione, too. She had been one of his best friends, and she had never blamed or mocked him for anything.

One day he actually succeeded in gathering enough courage to approach Harry and Ron. They were sitting in one of the huge windows in the common room. "How are you two holding up?" Neville asked nervously.

Harry looked up at him. There was an emptiness in his green eyes. "I'm fine, Neville, thanks for asking."

Ron said nothing. It had become more obvious now than ever that he had been in love with Hermione, and he probably regretted never telling her so.

Searching for something appropriate to say, Neville heard himself blurt out, "And how's Ginny?"

Oh, what a stupid thing to say!

But instead of becoming angry, Ron actually looked straight at him with apparent gratitude. Obviously no-one else had had the courtesy and forthrightness to ask him about his sister's health, and he appreciated Neville doing so. "Sad thing, that is," he said. "Still in the mental institution, unfortunately. They say she's still babbling about disgrace and avenging Hermione's death, but otherwise she seems to get on pretty well..."

"Funny thing about that Blaise-guy, eh?" Neville said nervously.

Ron chuckled. "Yeah. But that bastard got what he deserved. I don't blame Ginny for beating him into a pulp – 'specially not after he raped her. Wasn't he like Malfoy's best friend or something?"

"That doesn't mean he deserved to die, does it?" Harry protested.

Ron moaned irritably and shook his head. "You are way too noble for your own good, Harry."

"But it's wrong to kill people, and Ginny—"

"Shut up!"

Neville did not dare stay any longer in case there was a real row pendant. He fled the common room altogether and went treading the corridors. It was starting to get dark. Maybe he was not even supposed to be there? Oh, who gave a shit, anyway?

"Lost, Longbottom?"

Neville froze. No. Not that voice. Slowly turning around, he thought, "Please let it be a Boggart, please let it be a Boggart..."

But no. It was the real Snape. In the flesh. Sallow and sinister flesh, admittedly, but flesh nonetheless.

"P-p-professor Sn-snape, sir," he stuttered, backing away a few inches.

Snape was eyeing him with obvious detest. The directness of his poisonous gaze always turned Neville's legs into jelly, and his throat was magically transformed into old sandpaper. If he was to talk now he would probably turn the air around them into dust or something, even without trying to use his wand first. "There, there, Longbotton," Snape drawled condescendingly, "no need to piss your pants. Wandering around in the corridors past nine - really, Longbottom. I would have thought that at least you knew to live by the rules around here."

Neville said nothing. Just tried to swallow the painful lump that was currently occupying his throat. Maybe it was his heart trying to surface?

Snape suddenly got a very odd expression on his sinister face. He looked as if he was trying to work out the details of a masterly plan just taking form in his serpentine mind. Then his thin lips curled into a hideous smile. "I think I will let you off the hook this time, Longbottom. After all, this is the first time I catch you breaking the rules..."

"Really? Oh, thank you, sir!" Neville exclaimed with relief, but his brief moment of peace seemed to come to a bitter end.

"If you agree to participate in a duel with me," Snape finished, the disgusting grin widening. He was enjoying the torturing of poor little Neville, and Neville knew that he would enjoy cursing him as much - if not more! But what choice did he have? He was not sure that Professor Snape would let him go even if he said, "Alright, okay, I'll take the detention," because Snape loved to see him shiver in fright.

So Neville had to pull himself together and face up to his greatest fear, and all he could do was hope for the best.

They took there positions, first facing each other, then swiftly turning their backs to each other, walking a good ten paces before stopping and turning around again. Neville was trembling to the bone when he faced his adversary, his wand held out in front of him. This was bad. This was more than bad. He wished that he had stayed around for Harry's and Ron's row instead of walking off on his own. Should not he have seen this coming?

And before he had time to react, Snape had uttered the first charm. "Rictusempra!"

Neville was caught by surprise at this, because he had expected something worse and more advanced than a simple Tickling Spell. For a second or two he succumbed to the tickles, but as soon as his head cleared up he raised his wand and yelled, "Engorgio!" The next moment Snape's left arm had swelled to four times its original size, making him sag to the left because of the new weight. Now Neville was prepared for the Professor's next move; he would know how to take it.

Snape, furious about his humongous baboon arm, screamed, "Stupefy!", but Neville was too quick, yelling, "Protego!", which made an invisible shield appear in front of him and furthermore deflected the Professor's last charm. What more was, the protection shield fired the Stunning Charm right back at Snape, who instantly became rigid and fell headlong to the floor. Neville, certain that he had won the duel, grinned satisfactory and used the Enervation Charm to undo Professor Snape's Stunning Charm and allow him to get back up on his feet. Preparing to thank Snape for an honest battle, Neville reached out his hand, but Snape simply pointed his wand at his gigantic arm, muttered "Reducio" and turned it back into its normal size. When that was taken care of, he turned to Neville, his wand pointed at the boy as if in mortal threat. "You!" he said, hissing hoarsely. "You! How dare you fight back like some snotty little brat? I was supposed to win this duel, and I won't let one little set-back stop me from regaining my pride!"

Neville backed away in fright. "Bu-but, Professor Snape, you said that you-"

"SILENCE!" Snape opened his mouth to utter a curse, but Neville was quicker: "Incendio!"

One of the Charms that had been Hermione's speciality; the Fire-Conjuring Charm. Suddenly Snape's black billowy robes caught fire and lit up the Professor like a torch. With a stunned look in his black, beedy eyes he looked down at himself, amazed with the red-yellow-orange-blue-white flames that was quickly starting to devour him. Then, as the shock left him, he began to feel the excruciating pain of the flames hungrily licking at his lean, bent body, and he began to scream in agony. Neville watched in amazement as his nemesis was slowly reduced to charcoal ashes, a weird pride rising within him.

He had done it.

He had defeated Severus Snape.

Satisfied with himself and the successful duel he turned to walk back to his common room and boast about it to the others (they would all love him for this) when he found that Draco Malfoy was staring at him only five feet away.